By Anton Chekov
DURING all the years I have been living in this world I haveonly three times been terrified.
The first real terror， which made my hair stand on end andmade shivers run all over me， was caused by a trivial butstrange phenomenon. It happened that， having nothing to doone July evening， I drove to the station for the newspapers.
It was a still， warm， almost sultry evening， like all thosemonotonous evenings in July which， when once they haveset in， go on for a week， a fortnight， or sometimes longer， inregular unbroken succession， and are suddenly cut short bya violent thunderstorm and a lavish downpour of rain thatrefreshes everything for a long time.
The sun had set some time before， and an unbroken graydusk lay all over the land. The mawkishly sweet scents of thegrass and flowers were heavy in the motionless， stagnant air.
I was driving in a rough trolley. Behind my back thegardener’s son Pashka， a boy of eight years old， whom I hadtaken with me to look after the horse in case of necessity， wasgently snoring， with his head on a sack of oats. Our way layalong a narrow by-road， straight as a ruler， which lay hid likea great snake in the tall thick rye. There was a pale light fromthe afterglow of sunset； a streak of light cut its way through anarrow， uncouth-looking cloud， which seemed sometimes likea boat and sometimes like a man wrapped in a quilt....
I had driven a mile and a half， or two miles， when againstthe pale background of the evening glow there came into sightone after another some graceful tall poplars； a river glimmeredbeyond them， and a gorgeous picture suddenly， as though bymagic， lay stretched before me. I had to stop the horse， for ourstraight road broke off abruptly and ran down a steep inclineovergrown with bushes. We were standing on the hillsideand beneath us at the bottom lay a huge hole full of twilight，of fantastic shapes， and of space. At the bottom of this hole，in a wide plain guarded by the poplars and caressed by thegleaming river， nestled a village. It was now sleeping.... Itshuts， its church with the belfry， its trees， stood out against thegray twilight and were reflected darkly in the smooth surfaceof the river.
I waked Pashka for fear he should fall out and begancautiously going down.
“Have we got to Lukovo？” asked Pashka， lifting his headlazily.
“Yes. Hold the reins！...”
I led the horse down the hill and looked at the village. Atthe first glance one strange circumstance caught my attention：
at the very top of the belfry， in the tiny window between thecupola and the bells， a light was twinkling. This light waslike that of a smoldering lamp， at one moment dying down， atanother flickering up. What could it come from？
Its source was beyond my comprehension. It could not beburning at the window， for there were neither ikons nor lampsin the top turret of the belfry； there was nothing there， as Iknew， but beams， dust， and spiders’ webs. It was hard to climbup into that turret， for the passage to it from the belfry wasclosely blocked up.
It was more likely than anything else to be the reflectionof some outside light， but though I strained my eyes to theutmost， I could not see one other speck of light in the vastexpanse that lay before me. There was no moon. The paleand， by now， quite dim streak of the afterglow could not havebeen reflected， for the window looked not to the west， but tothe east. These and other similar considerations were strayingthrough my mind all the while that I was going down the slopewith the horse. At the bottom I sat down by the roadside andlooked again at the light. As before it was glimmering andflaring up.
“Strange，” I thought， lost in conjecture. “Very strange.”
And little by little I was overcome by an unpleasant feeling.
At first I thought that this was vexation at not being ableto explain a simple phenomenon； but afterwards， when Isuddenly turned away from the light in horror and caught holdof Pashka with one hand， it became clear that I was overcomewith terror....
I was seized with a feeling of loneliness， misery， and horror，as though I had been flung down against my will into this greathole full of shadows， where I was standing all alone with thebelfry looking at me with its red eye.
“Pashka！” I cried， closing my eyes in horror.
“Well？”
“Pashka， what’s that gleaming on the belfry？”
Pashka looked over my shoulder at the belfry and gave ayawn.
“Who can tell？”
This brief conversation with the boy reassured me for a little，but not for long. Pashka， seeing my uneasiness， fastened hisbig eyes upon the light， looked at me again， then again at thelight....
“I am frightened，” he whispered.
At this point， beside myself with terror， I clutched the boywith one hand， huddled up to him， and gave the horse a violentlash.
“It’s stupid！” I said to myself. “That phenomenon is onlyterrible because I don’t understand it； everything we don’tunderstand is mysterious.”
I tried to persuade myself， but at the same time I did notleave off lashing the horse. When we reached the postingstation I purposely stayed for a full hour chatting with theoverseer， and read through two or three newspapers， but thefeeling of uneasiness did not leave me. On the way back thelight was not to be seen， but on the other hand the silhouettesof the huts， of the poplars， and of the hill up which I had todrive， seemed to me as though animated. And why the lightwas there I don’t know to this day.
The second terror I experienced was excited by a circumstanceno less trivial.... I was returning from a romantic interview. Itwas one o’clock at night， the time when nature is buried in thesoundest， sweetest sleep before the dawn. That time naturewas not sleeping， and one could not call the night a still one.
